Words
Anne Sexton
Be careful of words, |
even the miraculous ones. |
For the miraculous we do our best, |
sometimes they swarm like insects |
and leave not a sting but a kiss. |
They can be as good as fingers. |
They can be as trusty as the rock |
you stick your bottom on. |
But they can be both daisies and bruises. |
Yet I am in love with words. |
They are doves falling out of the ceiling. |
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap. |
They are the trees, the legs of summer, |
and the sun, its passionate face. |
Yet often they fail me. |
I have so much I want to say, |
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc. |
But the words aren't good enough, |
the wrong ones kiss me. |
Sometimes I fly like an eagle |
but with the wings of a wren. |
But I try to take care |
and be gentle to them. |
Words and eggs must be handled with care. |
Once broken they are impossible |
things to repair. |